Hours Restored
by JaxxyMaxxy
Summary: The MiM has appointed Pitch Black as Jack's 'mentor', the boogeyman crafting dreams for him when he tragically falls in love with the boy. Jack returns his feelings, and then...forgets him, turning the Prince of Darkness into a King of Nightmares. Having remembered his childhood, Jack confronts his former enemy and their time together is restored.
1. Chapter 1

_Hours Restored_

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**Rating: M (for following** **chapters)**

**Words: 5,228**

**Chapter: 1**

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Jack Frost was destined to be the center of Pitch Black's devotion from the very day of his birth into existence. Pitch Black received an order from the Man in the Moon, to look after this boy, strengthen him for the role he will play, love him even. His lips twist into a grimace at the memory, staring down at the shrieking, gasping newborn. But every trace of distasteful expression leaves him with a gasp when the boy opens his eyes, staring straight into his own, and falling silent in a mixture of fear and awe.

His mother holds him to her chest, closing her eyes and crying softly in untouchable joy. Though those brown eyes stay glued to the King of Nightmares, and he watches a smile curl pink lips; then a chubby arm is outstretched in his direction, fingers opening and closing. Pitch, entranced, walks forward, offering his gray hand and feeling tiny, warm fingers wrap tightly around his own. He gasps again, and then disappears in a swarm of shadows.

Furiously pacing in his lair, Pitch tries to think his way through the Man in the Moon's orders of him. Surely, he can't just force all of his plans to change. Then again, what would be so wrong if they were? Pitch had gotten used to the idea of scaring children for all eternity, and now this little boy, is supposed to be...his what? Could loneliness be traded in for company so easily, was it really that simple?

_**Go to him**_, Pitch actually jumps at the intrusion, but obeys it nonetheless, mumbling as he does so. They have named him now, the boy is officially Jack Overland Frost. How cute. Pitch cocks his head and watches the infant as he sleeps peacefully, innocently. Lying on his stomach in a pale blue onesie, head turned toward him. Was he to do it now? So soon? Of course, Pitch can't understand why he finds himself so opposed to the idea, but he is. He straightens, looking down at this innocent child, and deciding he will grant this first night of uninterrupted rest.

The next night however, after being plagued by the Man in the Moon to do so, Pitch returns with the all too cruel intent of fear. He swallows at the weight of this act, raising his hands and swirling delicate black sand that dances around the unknowing infant. In seconds Jack's peaceful expression is gone, replaced with fresh fright, a sight usually pleasing to the boogeyman, though now only inducing heavy sickness. His cry of distress is a noose around his neck as tears actually spring to his eyes. Why does he care so much for this boy? Maybe it's not him, maybe it's the fact he has never forced nightmares upon someone so young. An infant every now and then, but never the day after being born. Even Pitch isn't that cruel.

Pitch begins to watch the boy in every waking hour, becoming more and more acquainted with Jack Overland Frost. Other than that first night, the boy has yet to lay eyes upon him, to actually see him. This pains him so, the reason to why still unknown.

Finally, after years pass, Jack awakens from a intricate nightmare designed by the boogeyman himself. Now five, Jack squeezes his eyes shut, and shakes his head, brown bangs tickling his brow. "They're not real, Jack. They're not real."

He peeks between his fingers to no slobbering monsters, but instead, there is a tall, dark man lounging in a black chair at the corner of his bed, watching him intently. Jack yelps before slapping both hands over his mouth. "You can see me?" Pitch asks the question calmly, not allowing joy to seep through his bones just yet. Jack nods twice, slowly, brown eyes wide with fear and wonder. "Who are you?"

"I'm Pitch." He sticks out a hand with a small, polite smile. Jack takes it numbly, "W-what are you doing here...Pitch?"

"Well, Jack, you know those nightmares you get?" He nods, "Are...are you the one who...who sends those things to me?"  
"Yes." Heart-breakingly, Pitch watches his big brown eyes fill with tears, eyebrows forming a peak, lips quivering. Jack brings his fists to his chin, raising his shoulders to his ears in fear, "Why?" Pitch feels a lump form in his throat at the small, weak voice of this poor, tortured child. "It's my job, Jack."

"Please stop it, Pitch." He sniffles, one tear rolling down his round cheek, "I don't wanna cry anymore. Promise me you won't do it again."

"I can't promise that to you, Jack. It's my job." It takes all his strength to deny his own tears freedom. Jack swallows, "Then at least stay with me, so I have someone here to tell me they aren't real other than myself." He licks his lips, furrowing his brow, and threatening to cry harder.

Pitch springs from his chair, letting it dissolve in black dust as he comes to kneel in front of the child. He takes the small, pale hands in his own, staring into the pleading eyes. "Jack...I'll stay with you, but the nightmares...they're going to get worst, they have to." This time, his brow furrows in confusion, "Why?"

"You won't believe me now, but, trust me, they are helping you." Jack clenches his jaw, and then looks down at their hands, swallowing. "You've been with me the whole time, haven't you?" he whispers, remembering the contact of long ago.

Jack looks up when no answer comes, and Pitch simply nods in response. "Will you stay with me now?" Another nod, and Jack lies back down, curling into a ball on his side. Pitch silently pulls the covers up to his chin, and sits on the edge of the bed, gazing down at the boy as he slips into unconsciousness.

The following morning, Jack wakes to Pitch's absence, asking himself if the man ever visited him at all, or more likely, revealed himself. He runs through his day searching for the seemingly ominous man to no avail. But once again at night, after an extremely gruesome nightmare, Jack wakes in a panting sweat to find the man calmly gazing at him in the same spot as before. He feels his anger scorch his cheeks, _"Don't do that."_ Pitch doesn't allow the surprise from the harshness of his tone and words appear on his face. "What, wait for you?"

"No, _don't leave me_. I want to see you in the morning, when I wake, and if I can't, than at least say goodbye in some way. Leave a note, or wake me up for all I care."

"Alright, Jack - understood. I will stay with you through the night's entirety, as you wish." Now embarrassed by his outburst, Jack crosses his arms and mumbles, "Thank you….Pitch…?"

The King arches an eyebrow, "The children...they...they aren't really dead are they? I mean...they didn't really die?" Pitch shakes his head, "No, Jack, those children never existed in the first place." The boy sighs in obvious relief, though shuddering at the lingering images. "Well...I guess I'll go back to sleep now." Jack turns over to do so, his pale, white back to him. "Goodnight." He timidly whispers, not sure he will reply. "Goodnight, Jack." Pitch briefly closes his eyes, wondering how his non-living life has come to include this. Upon opening them, it becomes apparent that Jack is shivering, even with the blanket pulled over him. Pitch soundlessly approaches him before pulling the dozing boy into his arms and lying down. Jack lets out a faint moan of acknowledgement before settling into a more peaceful sleep, shivers almost ending instantly. Pitch finds himself dreading the morning hours.

At long last, the young boy rouses himself, stretching with a yawn and burrowing back into the warmth surrounding him. Pitch clears his throat, and Jack's eyes snap open wide, blush dancing across his cheeks. "Oh. Sorry." He apologizes with a sheepish smile, that spreads to Pitch's lips as well. Jack sits up and crawls off of him. "Are you going to watch me today?"

Sitting up as well, Pitch replies, "I was going to torment other children, but if you -"

"Wait! There's other children?"

"Yes, of course, everyone has nightmares, you know."

"No, I don't know! I thought I was the only one." He doesn't sound hurt, instead, relieved. "Are their dreams as bad as mine?"

"No ones dreams are as bad as yours, I'm afraid."

"Why not?"

"None of them are as important." Pitch stands and walks to the door, Jack eagerly following, "Wait, so...I'm...important?"

"Yes, I just don't how yet." Jack smiles up at him then, the gesture coming off so natural and genuine, Pitch smiles back.

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**Nine Years Later**

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"Hey, Pitch!" Jack cries, waving his arms, and running over to the man dressed in black casually leaning against a tree. Familiar golden eyes snap up to him. "It's my birthday today, get me anything? I know you did." Jack smiles, coming to a stop in front of the man. "Your gift is a peaceful night." Jack's shoulders slump in disappointment. "Oh come on, it has to be better than that, I'm fourteen!"

"You're not fourteen yet, not until midnight." Jack pouts, "You're being so technical about it. Anyway, you look terrible, what's wrong?" Dark circles ring Pitch's eyes in lack of sleep. He's been staying up most nights, trying to figure out what the Man in the Moon has planned for the boy he has accidently come to love and care for deeply. "Nothing, Jack, have a splendid birthday." With that, the boogeyman turn to leave, but Jack stops him.

"Wait! I haven't seen you in a while, it's the eve of my birthday, and you're leaving so soon?" Jack smiles charmingly, "Take a walk with me. I've missed you." The words warm his dark heart, and the King obliges.

They walk the white path in comfortable silence, broken when Jack takes his hand. Pitch looks down at the boy, curiously wondering the reason. Jack blushes, shrugging, "My hand was cold." Pitch shakes it off, refusing to give himself the satisfaction of thinking it anything more. They stop in a snow covered clearing, Jack taking both of Pitch's hands and looking down at the blanketed forest floor. "Uh...Pitch...there's no way this isn't going to sound wrong, so...I'll just say it. I...I have really enjoyed these...years with you, kind of all to myself." Pitch notes how the boy is avoiding his gaze, confessing these words mostly into the wool of his scarf. "So much so, I don't want them to end, and...here lately my nightmares have been...about losing you - being all alone. And I just want to make sure that doesn't happen." He finally looks up at him, "So I was wondering if you would like something more -"

"Jack!" They both turn their heads to his giggling little sister, "What are you doing? You look silly!" Obviously disappointed at the interruption, Jack swallows, before regaining himself. "Yeah? Well, you look real silly with snow in your hair!" She cocks her head in confusion, "Huh?" Jack takes this moment to release Pitch's hands and craft an expert snowball, chucking it right at her head. She runs, squealing in terror. Jack laughs in his victory, turning back to Pitch, "I'll - I'll just tell you later." Then he chases after her, leaving Pitch to revel in his own wonder and anticipation.

Later on in the evening, inching closer and closer to midnight, Jack enjoys his own party. Finding the noise a little too much, Jack briefly retires to his own bedroom for a moment's rest. He prepares to sit on the edge of his bed only to jump at a sharp poke. He whirls around to scowl at...a small, wrapped box. The colors on it consist of black, gray, and white - Jack smiles brightly at instantly knowing the sender. He sits down and unwraps it carefully, gasping at it's contents.

There, standing in the palm of his hand, is the most realistic, detailed figurine he has ever laid eyes upon. It's the scene from earlier, Jack holding both of Pitch's hands close to his chest, both of them peering deep into the other. Jack's eyes water at it's meaning, before placing it safely in his pocket and racing out of the house, seeking the man himself.

"Pitch!"

He runs through the forest, calling his name, and finally finding him across the pond. "Pitch!" He exclaims, smiling brightly once again. The dark man rises to his feet, and slowly grins back at him, a sight so rare it causes Jack's heart to jump, forcing him to run. Once reaching the middle of the frozen pond, standing directly under the Man in the Moon's gaze, the frigid ice gives way, plunging Jack into cold, suffocating darkness.

Pitch races for him, only to see Jack staring up at him with wide, terrified eyes, fighting against the water that drags him under. Pitch discards his cloak, throwing it off and preparing to save him, when the Man in the Moon intervenes. _**Don't You Dare, Kozmotis**_

Pitch ignores him, finding the hole too small for him to fit, he begins to desperately attack it. _**It is frivolous, your efforts. This is what he was Meant to be**_ "No, he's meant to be with me." Pitch replies, plunging into the water and pulling his love to the surface.

Jack lies limp in his arms, figurine now clutched in his palm, as if the boy grabbed it while staring into the face of death. Pitch rocks him, begging him to wake, crying his name softly. When suddenly, the moonlight brightens, and Jack's brown hair fades to the purest white, his skin setting into a dim glow, almost impossibly becoming colder. And then a gasp of breath, and the purest blue eyes are revealed to him. Jack chokes, coughing and gasping again before staring up at the man. "...Jack?"

"...Who...are you?"

And in all of his life, no one had ever spoken words to him so cruel. Tears swell in golden eyes, and the Dark Lord blinks them back. Jack sits up, rubbing his head and looking around at the forest once known. Pitch swallows, mumbling a choked, "Sorry" before vanishing in a swirl of black.

From that night on, Pitch is hardened in anger and lost, hating the Man in the Moon and himself. The dreams crafted especially for Jack turning to child's play compared to the horror he now effortlessly unleashes. Jack, on the other hand, learns to live with the life now granted to him - never being seen, while causing joy to those unexpectant. When he is chosen once again, and his powers are tested against the Dark Lord, Jack grows sick at the secrets he keeps.

Like the figurine he carries around everywhere, usually in the pocket of his blue hoodie. It's crafted from black sand, and so he puts to and to together, figuring it must have been made with Pitch's very own fingers, he keeps it to himself - fearful the other Guardians will suspect him of the very same evil. Jack does himself, there seems to be no connection between them other than the figurine, and the encounter when he awoke, but there must be. More than anything, these wonders plague Jack. _Why would the Nightmare King make something so beautiful, for me of all people? What am I missing? Were we friends before? And if so, how did it come about?_

The face off between the Guardians and Pitch now done, Jack confronts Tooth, and she revives his memories. Gasping with the realization, Jack thanks her time and time again, flying to his dark domain.

Jack's POV

My feet float to the ground at the edge of the dark hole. I swallow, just now realizing the impact this could have. Unconsciously, my fingers squeeze around the figurine, and I leap into the lair. I hold my staff to my chest nervously, only seeing dark hallways that lead to...well, anywhere. "Pitch?...Pitch!"

"Yes, Frost?" I jump and whirl around to his lidded golden eyes that drag up to my gaze. "I-I have to talk to you." No emotion plays onto his expression, and he wordlessly leads me down the center corridor into a library which, I'm guessing plays as a living room of some sorts. I sit down in an elegantly embroidered chair, Pitch just standing in the center of the room, facing away from me. "Begin. Frost." I flinch at how coldly he says my name, like he hates the weight of the letters on his tongue. I shake my head, rubbing my hands up and down my thighs.

"Um, I…" I take a deep breath, staring at the polished floor, "I remember." I swallow as he slowly turns to face me. "I remember everything," and looking into those now familiar eyes, I feel my own water, tightening my jaw and pressing on. "I, um, did I?...Did I love you, Pitch?"

"Jack," And I can tell he's about to lay down some adult, you-don't-need-to-know bullshit, so I take out the figurine and shout, "_Just tell me!"_ Pitch swirls away in shadows and then appears in front of me the same way, I don't jump.

He stares down at me with soft eyes, and that look startles me more than anything, because it seems so out of place, though I know he has looked at me in this way before - more than once, and I cherished the moments. "Pitch...just tell me." I am well aware of the wavering of my voice, and I watch him sit down, less gracefully than I have come to expect. "Do you remember the night in it's entirety?" I slowly shake my head, a few pieces were left out, here and there. He looks up from where his hands are anxiously rubbing together, and I gasp. The King of Nightmares...is crying.

"That figurine, it was created on your fourteenth birthday, from the moment, I believe, you were going to ask to…" He trails off, searching for the fitting word. "Date you?" He nods, "Yes. Actually, I...I remember every word you spoke to me." Even though I know it will be painful for him, I ask, "Can you...recite them, for me?" He does so, smiling ruefully to himself.

I have endured the one thing I feared the most. "Yes." I didn't know I had spoken aloud. While Pitch stares at the ground in awoken sorrow, I take the time to study this complex man. His black hair isn't slicked back, instead uncaringly messy - it's cute. I flush at my own thought...did I really just think that? But then, I smile. That's one of the most fitting thoughts I've had in the past weeks, dealing with this has made me darker than most would think possible for the Guardian of Fun.

When I look up again, it's into golden globes, and an intense warmth floods and seizes me. I smile again, sweeter than before, hopefully telling him that all is right. If the grin he returns is any sign, I actually believe it. And now, I want to hug him, for making me genuinely smile for the first time in weeks, but rejection seems unbearable right now. Swallowing any hesitation, I stand and walk over to him, quickly bending over and wrapping my arms around his neck.

Surprisingly, Pitch does not stiffen at all, at least not noticeably, and he wraps his arms around my waist, effectively pulling me closer until our chests touch. Confidently, I hug him tighter, amazed at how familiar this contact is, I bury my face into his warmth. It is moments later when I awkwardly realize I'm in his lap now. Too nervous to really move, I just pull back and sit there. The warmth of it is actually very welcomed so, Pitch better tell me to move otherwise, I'm staying here all day.

"Why do you call me Frost?" His slender, gray fingers trail up and down my thigh, "Jack was...too personal. I used to call you that before you were the spirit of winter so, I wanted to distance myself from the former and present as much as possible." He then laughs, the sound so deep it reverberates in the large library, striking me once again with it's familiarity. I should get used to that - obviously, I'm remembering things, but dang! I'm tired of being surprised! "Trying to recruit you was actually a moment of weakness on my part. I thought I could make you remember me, or at least give you enough time to fall in love with me again. If you had joined me you would have been feared _and _loved."

And of course, now the act looks so sweet it forces me to wonder how I ever saw it as evil. I lean forward and hug him again, startling him. When we look at each other, we are mere inches apart. My gaze flickers from his eyes to his lips, over and over in uncertainty. Staring at his lips I just lean forward again, pressing them against my own and closing my eyes.

Arms snake around my waist, crushing me against his shocking warmth. I root my fingers into his soft hair, and silently follow his movements. This is my first kiss, and it's with Pitch Black, the Nightsmith. I smile, briefly breaking us apart. "Sorry" I breathe, before diving back into him. I like this - it's nice. He's not forceful or too eager, and it seems Pitch Black is contrary to many assumed beliefs. Wonder if that's frustrating to him, or if he's just too cool to care. I take his face in my hands and kiss him harder, furrowing my brow as if it's weighed down by the sudden fervor. Almost unbeknownst to me, my leg is swung over, forcing me to straddle the boogeyman.

Pitch immediately pulls away, looking up at me. "Jack." I blush, knowing just by his tone that my stupid leg has crossed some line. His hands hold my hips, and he returns me to my previous position. "I'm sorry." He waves a hand like what I just said is complete folly. "Are they expecting you back tonight?"

"Um, no, why?" I ask that way too eager, barely keeping the smile off my face, ignoring how split personality this is. Like, one minute, I despise the guy, and the next, I'm cooing at him like a lovesick teen; but at least the fact that it's slightly sick or at least twisted, is finalized.

"Would you like to stay with me, then?"

"How could I deny an accent like that? The answer's yes, yes." I nod to make it all the more clear, and growing more comfortable I ask, "Are you going to carry me to the bedroom now?" It's meant to be a joke, but I witness his face falling, and I rush to pick up the pieces of it scattered on the floor. "I'm sorry - that was a joke, Pitch, just a joke. I know nothing is happening tonight." I babble, prepared to go on until the same dark, enchanting laugh stops me.

Then Pitch stands, actually carrying me! Bridal style! I can't help it - I squeal excitedly, kicking my feet as he carries me to...a kitchen. He carries me to a kitchen and sits me down at the bar. "Let me guess, you're going to cook for me." I say this with a ridiculous overly flirtatious face to which Pitch just stares back at seriously - not even cracking a smile. I slap my hands on the black granite. "You are!" Throwing my hands out for him, I don't care how young I appear in this moment, only the fact that someone is cooking for me. Like. Romantically. "Oh my Snowflakes, no one's ever done that before! At least, not for me. Are you going to deny my hug and just stare at me like that? If you don't come here right now I swear to the icicles that I will tackle you to the ground!" Pitch finally smirks before leaning forward and letting me squeeze the non-life out of him.

I release him, imitating a schoolgirl with my chin on two fists, smiling coyly and looking up at him. "So what are you going to make me?"

Pitch answers already in the midst of preparing. "It's something you've had and loved before."

"I hope you're not going to make me guess, because honestly, that's a little unfair." He smiles, removing a large loaf pan. "No, it's bacon wrapped meatloaf." I gasp, "I don't remember having it, but it sounds delicious! Proceed!" He looks up at me and smiles, laughing silently this time. "God, I love your little laughs, the audible and inaudible ones! I think I'm going too fast, Pitch, honestly. I know we've known each other for years, but I still can't remember all of those years, so should I feel like I love you or like I'm falling in love with you again_, __or_ should we start from scratch?"

He opens his mouth to answer, but I'm too consumed with my thoughts, so I ramble on, "I guess I'm falling in love with you again, because all of these things seem so familiar to me. Like, even when we were hugging earlier I was like," I narrow my eyes, staring at the wall over his head, "I know this guy, we've done this before, and I am so gay." I look at him, "I am gay, right? Since I loved you first, I guess, and I can't remember hitting on any girls. Then again, why would I, because there's still a lot of things missing." I furrow my brow, scowling at the countertop and shaking my head as if it scorned me. "Even now though, I don't find girls that attractive, I mean, sure, I'll acknowledge the fact that they're not ugly, but I'm not struck by them, you know? Right now, I just want to stare at you. You're eyes are so pretty, and stuff, it just seems so unfair for someone to be that physically handsome. Walking all high and mighty with your cheekbones and smooth jawline, skin so incredibly soft, _towering_ over everyone."

"Jack…?" I look up and blush, realizing that I have just confessed the frustration I endured while fighting the bastard. Pitch has this amused expression however, that I don't want to leave, so I continue. "Honest to icicles, that was the hardest part about fighting you - battling myself over whether to smack you, or admire that gorgeous bone structure." Pitch chuckles, already cooking now, me sitting back to watch him, proud and content I made the boogeyman laugh.

Bacon wrapped meatloaf, green beans, and mashed potatoes will be the best dinner of my eternal existence. Pitch sits across from me, eagerly awaiting my first bite. I flash a smile his way and close my lips around the fork.

Mom made this for me whenever we were blessed enough to have the ingredients. It _was_ the best meal we ever ate, and she made it beautifully. Us sitting around the table, just Mom, Annabel, and myself.

I swallow, and feel the wetness of my own eyes. I slowly look back up to Pitch and smile kind of shakily. "Thank you." I whisper, he nods in turn and leans back, picking up his own utensils. I know it was a really good meal because we didn't talk very much, just ate it in silence, very comfortable silence.

Afterword, I clean the dishes since he cooked and Pitch leaves to find me 'suitable nightwear'. He returns, saving me from having to wander around this ridiculous labyrinth. He hands me black sweatpants. "That's it?" He shrugs, "My shirts are too big for you, and even with those you're going to have to tie the drawstring." I slump, "Thanks for making me feel like a shrimp." He just tousles my hair, making me glare, "Where is the bathroom?" He points it out along with the bedroom so I won't get lost. I mumble a thanks and leave to change without another word.

When I walk into the bedroom, Pitch is lounging with a thick book, glasses perched on the edge of his nose. "Oh my Snowflakes, you have glasses!" He jumps, turning to me. (I try to ignore the gaze focused on my pale chest) "Why don't you wear those all the time?" I climb in next to him, marveling at how soft his sheets are. "I don't require them all the time." He places them on the nightstand along with his book, and turning off the lamp once I'm settled.

Naturally I lay on my side, nearly curled into a ball. "Pitch...I'm really happy I'm not sleeping alone tonight." I whisper to the darkness, and in reply I feel his arm wrap around me, pulling me onto his chest. The warmth that envelopes me is a reminder of my youth, how he used to stay with me when the nightmares grew too bad. Except now, I want it to mean more, to be more than a simple obligation. So I turn so I'm looking down at the golden eyes that burn through the night. Pitch kisses me, soft and lingering. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Jack."

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**A/N: First gay pairing, how'd I do? It's not all that different in my opinion actually. I kind of just naturally assume Jack would be the more feminine one in a relationship...is that wrong of me or is that just something so blatantly obvious it's left you wondering why the heck I mentioned it in the first place? Also, did I stray to far from the characters? I know I'm pushing the boundaries with how sweet Pitch is, but...I plan for him to have the _ability_ to dip into really dark moods that only Jack can free him from. Well, anyway, I'd like reviews if anyone out there even catches this and takes the time to read it.**

**P.S.**

**M rating comes into play next installment, this was just the set up**


	2. Chapter 2

**Rating: M (sexual content)**

**Words: 4,122**

**Chapter: 2**

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I wake up straddling the Nightmare King, how many people get to have _that_ thought run through their head, huh? Pitch however, still has his eyes close, so I take this time to study him when I am alerted to something much more urgent. Wincing, I glance down to see my own erection digging into his thigh. I have never jumped off a bed quicker. "Jack? What's wrong?" He rolls over to look at me, and I bolt. Straight for the bathroom where I lock myself in. What the icicles do I do? Holy Snowflakes, why did this have to happen? Ok, I've gotten an erection before, everything's cool, Jack, everything's cool. Just wait for it to leave. Yeah, yeah, I'll do that, I'll just wait for it to leave.

I sit down on the toilet seat and drum my fingers against my thigh while it obnoxiously tents my pants. That's gross, I don't want to get his sweatpants dirty, so I pull them down to my ankles and just wait.

"Jack? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Go back to bed."

"I kind of have an idea about what this is." I burn, of course he does, cause Pitch knows _everything_. I throw my hands in the air, "Fine, alright! I'm...aroused! Or...whatever..."

"Let me in, Jack, you're making it bigger than it is."

"Don't say things like that, Pitch! I'm fourteen!" His chuckle slips through the door and I scowl at where his head should be. Then, he's materializing out of shadows, like a total jerk - _still _laughing. I rush to cover myself with my hands, holding back a groan. "Pitch!"

"I was trying to be polite."

"You failed! Now get out of here! I'm gonna wait it out." His expression darkens, startling me a little, but I ignore it, crossing my arms determinedly over my chest and glaring straight ahead. "Wait it out? How long will that take?" I shrug, "Got any better ideas?" When no answer comes I look up at him to see a dark, twisted grin that forces me to swallow. "Why yes, I do." Pitch strolls forward and kneels in front of me, the action so graceful it's like theatricals on a stage. Blushing, I stutter, "W-what are you doing?" He only smirks down at me, "I'm taking care of you." Every muscle in my body freezes when his burning hands are gripping me snugly, what comes out of me sounding like a squeak. Pitch begins moving up and down, making me groan, squeeze my eyes shut, and clutch the toilet seat. Part of me wants to watch him do this, and the other just wants to hide from this moment completely. I mean, what would the Guardians think? Oh god, why did I think about that? Oh no! I can picture Bunnymund's rage right now...and...it kind of makes me smile. Other than the occasional pranks, and mischief, I'm never _really_ bad.

Giddy excitement fills me at the thought of how naughty I'm being, and then a blush comes after that because I really just thought the word naughty. Oh my god, Pitch is really good at this. I let my head roll forward with a moan, my chin touching my chest, and I know my knuckles are most likely, blindingly white. Finally feeling able, I open my eyes to see just what he's doing.

Pitch pumps his hand up and down, the other resting on the inside of my thigh. He calmly smiles up at me, quickening his movements and bringing me closer to - what? I honestly don't know, I know _what_ will happen, but what is it called? Screw those thoughts, oh my god, he's so good. Well, maybe he's not that good, maybe it's just me and my inexperience. No, I want to think Pitch is a sex god. And he very well proves himself to be when he tightens his hold and flicks his thumb against the head of my cock. My jaw snaps wide, and I arch into his hand, embarrassingly, calling his name. Unable to stop, I buck into Pitch's still moving hand until all waves of pleasure have escaped me. Slumping against the toilet, I pant while Pitch just smiles and washes his hands.

Uncaring of how annoying he may find it, I powder him with questions, wanting to get the best sex education possible. "Pitch...what was that?"

"Hand job." He replies without even looking up from his scrubbing, I'm thankful as I am blushing again. "No, I mean, what did I just do?" Now he slowly turns to look at me, an amused expression playing across his face. "You honestly don't know, Jack?" I shake my head, sheepishly standing and pulling up my pants. "Could-could you tell me?...like...everything?"

"I'll tell you everything over breakfast." I brighten, smiling as he nods for me to follow him, which I do.

"So, words for it are: orgasm, climax, cumming, and ejaculation." I repeat, writing them down in the little notepad he gave me. I look up at Pitch, who scowls while taking a sip of his coffee. "Please. Never use that last one."

"Ejaculation? Why?" He visibly flinches, glaring at me, "I. Just. Don't. Like. It." I widen my eyes and write a secret side note to insert that word into casual conversation around Pitch as much as possible. "Ok, now what's like, you know." I make a motion with my hand, and he nods. I sigh, this isn't as weird as it should be, here I am with bacon and eggs in front of me, discussing sex terms. I jump when he claps, turning to look at him. "Pay attention."

"Sorry."

"Ok, cum, sperm, seed, semen, spunk, jizz," He waves a hand, "and et cetera."

"Now, I know it's an erection - any other words for that?"

He sighs, "Hard on, boner, morning wood, woody, horny, randy," He points to me, "Most would describe you as a horny teenager." I cross my arms defensively, blushing, "No I'm not, I'm not a...horny teenager." I scowl at the table. "You will be." A lump grows in my throat, and my eyes dart to him. What? Desperately needing to change the subject I spit out, "Thanks for telling me all of this, by the way."

"Uh-huh."

I finish my plate, jumping up. "Ok, Pitch - I gotta go, see ya tomorrow?" He nods, sipping more of his stupid coffee. I glare at him until he finally looks up at me, "What?"

"You're not even going to _say _goodbye? God, I would think since you-" Unnoticed by me, Pitch has rose from the table and is now towering over me. Effectively cutting me off mid-sentence in a kiss so forceful I'd nearly tumble over if not for his arms holding me to him. Pitch hunches over me like a cocoon, wrapping me up in scorching shadows and tearing the breath from my lips. He lets me go, and I actually do stumble back a few steps. A small smile is on his lips, and I wipe my own, adjusting my hoodie and smoothing my hair.

"Could you return tonight?" I look up at him, surprised he would ask me to. "Um, I don't know, Pitch."

"Do you want me to kiss you again?" I shrug, closing my eyes and shaking my head, "S-sure, I mean - I wouldn't _mind_." He grabs me again, pulling me into him. My hand flattens against the smooth skin exposed by his robe. I rub small circles there until I'm released again. His golden eyes pierce me, and in a daze, I nod quickly. "Tonight. I'll see you tonight." Another smile just for me, "I look forward to it. Goodbye, Jack." I swallow with difficulty, not really wanting to leave, does North's palace hold this much handsome-dark-sexiness? No, no it doesn't. "G-goodbye."

Whirling around before I can convince myself otherwise I fly from his lair without so much as a backwards glance.

"Vhere have you been, Jack?" I don't even hesitate, counting off my fingers, "London, Paris, Ontario, all over, really." Guilt washes through me as I sit down next to him on the couch, but damn - what else am I supposed to say? The truth? Pfft, I can imagine those massive eyebrows touching his hairline right now. North spares me any more questions, gratefully, and the day drags by as I wait to return to a dark hole in the middle of a forest.

In the evening, Tooth stops in the middle of some _intriguing _story to ask me what's wrong. "Huh?"

"You're anxious about something." I snort, "No I'm not." She points, "You're tapping your foot." I glance down, and stop. "Well, uh, I, I was gonna go play with Jamie after this." She smiles, "Oh, go ahead." I look at all of them in turn, "You sure, I'm sure he can wait." She shoos me along, "No, go, you'll have about an hour with him if you leave now."  
"Thanks, guys." I grab my staff and dive out the window, the wind carrying me right to my love.

"_Holy Sh-" _ I scramble, grasping at air as I tumble out of the sky. _Dear god!_ _I'm dying again! _Managing to catch myself, breathing heavily, I try to force my heart to a regular pace. What the _hell_? _My __**love**__?_ I'm referring to the man who gives nightmares to children as _my __**love**__?_ Get it _together_, Jackie boy. Get. It. Together. I shake my head and fly faster.

Now tumbling into the darkness I guess my landings could be better. Banging into a wall, I come to a stop with a groan. A dark chuckle emerges from above me, and I look up to glowing cat eyes. I gasp with this realization, "Your eyes are like a cat's! I'm calling you that forever, now!" He cocks an eyebrow. "Pitchy cat!" I ignore his immediate scathing glare, clasping my hands together, "Isn't it perfect? It's perfect isn't? You love it, you're frowning, but I know you love it!"

"You will _not _call me that."

"Come on, Pitchy cat, stop being difficult." Pitch walks away with an eye roll, I jump to my feet, following. "You can nickname me too, Pitch, it's not exclusive!" I walk into the bedroom, Pitch glaring at me with an impressive amount of loathing.

"It's not hard, anything you like." I sit next to him, and he sighs, "I actually had a nickname for you when you were younger. It was foolish."

"No it wasn't, whatever it was. What was it?"

"I used to call you golden boy, because no matter what wicked nightmares I threw at you, you...you never faltered from the happy child you were, never even resented me."

"Really?"

"Yeah, sometimes, I think...there was another one...little...little something…"

"Cutie pie?"

"Don't be ridiculous, I believe it was innocent - little innocent." He turns to me, "Which one do you like better?" I smile, leaning closer, "Little innocent." He pulls me onto his lap, our crotches settling together and drawing a small gasp from my lips. Pitch smirks at me. "That reminds me, how far are we going? I mean, not like, tonight, but...can you give me something to look forward to?" Can you also tell me if there's any skin left on my face because it feels like it's all burned off by now. Pitch wriggles my hips, "Eager are we?"

"No! Just...oh, just tell me!"

"Are you sure you want to discuss this? I thought you'd be more of a romantic, Jack, letting things run their natural course."

"You couldn't be more wrong, I only came here cause I heard you give the best sex." I shrug, and we laugh together. "Fine. I'll be romantic, kiss me like Ryan Gosling." He arches an eyebrow, making me slump, "You know..._The Notebook_, by Nicholas Sparks?" No bell sounds, I sigh, "It's a romance, Pitch, it's a romance. If I'm to be romantic, I'm going to need a willing partner."

"I'm willing."

"Are you? Do you even know what _The Great Gatsby_ is, or how about _Atonement_, huh? I've read all of those and more, I'll have you know." Pitch bites back his retort, actually seeming impressed now. "You read?"

"How else do you think I spent the years no one believed in me?" I begin to count them off on my fingers, "I read all of Jane Austen, Edgar Allan Poe, Sylvia Plath. The best of Orwell, Vonnegut, Bradbury, yeah, I read a lot." I look up at him, "Poe and Plath were my favorites because of their darkness, made me feel better when I was really pissed no one could fucking see me, Pitch?" I ask, finally noticing the dazed look on his face. My eyebrow quirks, "What?" He suddenly tugs me closer, grinding us together, not even granting me a gasp of surprise before roughly kissing me. You know what? Fuck Ryan Gosling, cause Pitch Black is so much better. Ryan didn't kiss Rachel McAdams with this much passion, uh uh.

I tear my mouth away with a desperate need of air, then laugh. "Really? Me talking about books gets you all hot and bothered, Pitchy cat?" He only gives me a lustful stare, making me laugh harder. This is gonna be fun. Leaning forward, I whisper in his ear, "_Don't you think the character depth of Maxim de Winter in Daphne du Maurier's magnum opus was just impeccable? The sheer realism of him was startling. Here's a man capable of cold blooded murder and yet, you find yourself rooting for his happy ending." _Feeling Pitch tense against me, I hold back a laugh and move on to another work.

"_Or how about the cryptic symbolism posed throughout Lord of the Flies? All of those examinations of human nature and society? Kind of leaves you fearing man itself, huh? At least...the barbaric side of it anyway."_

And that's all it takes for Pitch to grab my waist and slam me to the bed, giggling. I grab his shoulders as he begins peppering my neck with kisses, still giggling like a little girl. I pull him away to look him dead in the eye, trying to be serious, "I want you to kiss me in the rain." I laugh at his confusion, waving a hand dismissively, "Never mind, Pitchy cat, will discuss it later." Pitch returns to kissing me, and I wiggle, trying to spread my legs beneath him to make it more comfortable. I finally succeed, Pitch sinking until our crotches rest against each other. He seems slightly surprised at the new position, and I give him a cheeky smile he just can't resist.

I am completely wrapped around the man, ankles locked, arms latched around his neck. When his arousal comes out of hiding to meet my own, I take it as a massive victory. All too soon, Pitch is freeing himself from my grip, partially at least. He kneels over me with an air of obvious dominance, and quickly strips me bare. Habitually, my hands are rushing to cover myself, but Pitch slaps them away like a school teacher. "Ow." I whine, clutching them to my chest. His stare fails to lessen, and I burn under the weight of it. "Stop raping me with your eyes, and do something!"

His reply comes with a corrupted grin, "Gladly." Hands slide slowly over the skin of my thighs, taking the base of my erection in a firm grip. Pitch smiling up at me before working it to a brutal pace that forces my eyes shut. "Oh God, Pitch, I -" My words are broken by a moan of distress when he kneels _away_ from me. I weakly slam my fists on the bed, "What are you doing to me, man? Working me up just so you can torture me like this." Turning my head, I cross my arms over my naked chest. "It's cruel, Pitch, that's what it is. Even for the Nightmare King, it's below the belt, _literally_."

"Oh stop being so childish and touch yourself already." My eyes widen, and I look back up at Pitch, swallowing. "What?"

"Touch yourself, little innocent." First time he uses the name and it's so contradictory and just...dirty it makes my jaw drop and words crash together. "W-w-what, I-I've, I've never done that before, I…" He takes my hand in his own, wrapping it tightly around myself. He begins to move, mimicking the actions of before, and I just bite my lip in concentration, watching the motions. "Got it?" Not letting me answer, Pitch lets go and moves to just take in my performance. I want to impress.

Starting out slow, I move my hand up and down in a circular motion, pleasure building at a snail's pace. Pitch is so much better at this. Maybe we have that same thought at the same moment, because he begins giving me instruction. "Sit up, and graze the head."

I sit up with a smirk, "Sir, yes, sir, Sex Sergeant." Pitch ignores me other than the slight quirk of his lip. Hesitantly, my fingers graze over the head, and pleasure pierces me as if an assault. I jolt and release a shuddering breath, now combing the actions learned. "Squeeze." I do - no hesitation, because obviously, even if I _didn't_ hear rumors, the man knows what he's talking about. "Faster." Groaning, I comply, closing my eyes so all I know is the wet sounds of pre-come sliding against skin, and sweet, blessed friction.

"Do you like it, little innocent?" I let my mouth hang open slightly, and answer in an eager nod. "Are you ready for more?" What? His lust filled eyes are waiting for me when I open my own. "More?"

"On your back." I lay down, naturally spreading my legs, which Pitch pushes to my chest. Excited, I smile, "Are you going to fuck me?" He laughs, making me want him all the more, but he's shaking his head. "No, just relax for me, Jack." Puzzled, I don't really know how to relax - "_OH MY GOD!" _

A wet heat is nudging against my entrance. Pitch Black is licking my ass. I suck in a breath and arch into him as his tongue ventures into me. High pitched whines fill the hot air, and numbly, my hand resumes its previous actions, moving in time with the thrusts of Pitch's wet muscle. "Why is this so good?" I moan, working myself harder, chasing after my ejaculation. Ew. Ok, Pitch's hatred of that word makes complete sense, it is the least attractive word I have ever - "_Fuck!" _I prop myself up on my elbows, "Pitchy cat? What...what was that?" Flashing me a grin he borrowed from the devil last week, Pitch coos, "Your prostate - but I think you'll like it's other name."

"What?"

"Fuck button." I giggle again, "Fuck button, really? It's really called that?"

"No, I just made that up for your amusement. You have a really nice giggle, Jack." I open my mouth to reply but all that escapes is a yelp as he presses it again. Pitch stays right on it, nudging, licking, sucking me closer and closer. My hand is a blur, slapping against my stomach as I arch off the bed, toes curling in the mere preparation. "_Pitch, I'm gonna, ha, I'm-I'm gonna cum. Huh, fuck, I'm cum- I'm cumming, Pitch, I-" _He wraps his lips around me, my spunk filling his mouth as Pitch sucks me dry. I watch him in amazement, wondering if I would do the same thing for him. When he pulls back with it dribbling down his chin, the answer is, yes, I fucking would. Pitch wipes it off, about to lick his finger, but I stop him. I blush, "No!...Um...can, can I try it?" The expression that comes over him is something in between extreme desire, and shock. He offers it to me anyway, and I take the digit into my mouth - tasting myself. He waits for my reaction.

I shake my head, "It's not bad, tastes like...bitter ice cream. But, Pitchy cat, you...you know you didn't have to do that." He comes closer, unbearably inches away, "I know, my innocent. I _wanted_ to." He captures my lips in a searing kiss of ice cream? I don't even know, every time we do something, uh...intimate? No, sexual? No, um...pleasurable, yeah, I like that. Every time we do something pleasurable, it feels like I unknowingly partook of meth or something. I'm dazed, he could tell me purple cows exist, and I'd believe him.

Now, Pitch just holds me in his arms, pressed right up against his chest. "Pitchy cat…?"

"Yes…?" He drawls, actually tired! I wore him out! Anyway, "Do you think, I could have a cookie right now? Because I really want one." He moans, but I see a shadow sneak out under the door to do my bidding. I hug him tighter, and then feel something dig into my thigh. I sit up immediately, "What the fuck? Pitch, are you still hard?" Hiding from my anger he just nods sheepishly into the pillows. "Why are you getting me off, but not yourself?" I cross my arms, "Is it because you think I can't do it? If so -"

"No, Jack, you're…" It appears like he's kicking himself for saying this, "You're the only one that matters, I'm happy just getting you off." That's so incredibly sweet and endearing it completely throws me.

Regaining myself, I straddle him and release his erection, mumbling, "Well I'm not." I take it in hand, but all I want to do is sit on it. I want him to fuck me. I look down at him, asking silently. His eyes widen, "No. Jack."

"But why?" I whine.

"Just no, Jack, you're not ready."

"You said I would become a horny teenager, and once I do - you won't help!" I lean forward, taking a softer approach, "Pitch, I'm ready."

"Wasn't tonight enough?"

"So you want to fuck me in the morning?" He sighs, muttering, "I never thought I'd be having a conversation like this."

"It would be over if you just agreed. What's the big deal? Do you want to marry me first?"

He's looking away now, very fed up with me, no doubt. "No, Jack, it's not a matter of marriage."

"Then what?" His resolve cracks, "I won't fuck you because I don't want to push you away!" The outburst makes me jump, and so I timidly whisper, "What?"

"Jack. If I was to do that with you, I would become _very _possessive. There would be no way to keep whatever this is a secret for you, don't you get that? I would want you here every hour of the day, even when gone you would have to wait for me. I know you don't want that." I run my hands slowly up his torso, leaning forward again. "Well how are you suppose to tame your possessiveness if you avoid sex with me altogether?" I look down at the gray skin beneath my touch, embarrassed by what I'm about to confess, "And honestly...all of that...it doesn't sound that bad. I could do it, _would_ do it if I didn't have a job to do."  
"You would?"

"In a heartbeat." If I'm not mistaken, his cock actually _twitches_ beneath me. Unable to resist, I grind against it, drawing a groan from him. "Sorry. Couldn't help it."

"Jack...can we talk about this in the morning?" I nod, returning to my earlier position in surrender. We snuggle up together, and he kisses my forehead. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Jack."

"...Hey, wait. You never got my cookie."

* * *

**A/N: ...wondering if I ruined it...probably not...right?**


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